


Anything for You

by Mordinette



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordinette/pseuds/Mordinette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Reapers gone and the war over, Shepard and Garrus can finally enjoy that home life they fought so hard for. A collection of little snippets of domestic bliss, with some humor and lots of fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for a prompt on the ME k-meme that asked for small, loving gestures between Shepard and Garrus in their domestic life. I have a few other ideas, too, that might turn into more chapters if there's enough interest.
> 
> The Shepard and Garrus in this are the same pair from my "Serendipity" story.
> 
> Big thanks to KabiViolet for beta reading.
> 
> Disclaimer: BioWare owns Mass Effect and its characters. I make no money from the writing of this story.

* * *

 

 

  
  
_I'd do anything_   
_For you, dear, anything -_   
_For you mean ev'rything to me._

_**"I'd Do Anything" (Oliver!) by Lionel Bart** _

__

Slowly getting baked to a crisp by the hot rays of the sun as they stretched out on the lounge chairs they'd set up on the pristine, white sands of this little island was not exactly Shepard's idea of fun. Garrus, however, couldn't have been happier. The skies were clear, the temperature was warm enough to make his plates sing with joy, and, most importantly, they had this whole place all to themselves. It wasn't quite the retirement home he'd been dreaming of, given that they were only renting this place for a week, but it was close enough—certainly better than being cooped up in their small apartment in London while trying to figure out what to do with the rest of their lives now that the war was over.

He lay on his back, his head propped up by a turian pillow, and closed his eyes as he soaked up the blissful heat enveloping his body. He tried to ignore the little noises coming from his left, as Shepard fidgeted and sighed, then fidgeted some more, and didn't even crack an eye open when she got up with a moan at last.

"I'm hotter than a chicken in an oven," she groaned. "I think I'll take a dip in the water. Wanna come?"

"No, thanks. I didn't survive three suicide missions just to drown on my vacation."

"Come on, it'll be fun. I can teach you how to swim."

He finally opened his eyes to look up at her. "As much as I _looove_ the idea of fighting for my life, I think I'll pass. Turians don't enjoy filling their lungs with water quite as much as humans do."

She shook her head with a laugh and turned towards the shore with a wave of her hand, and he watched as she ran across the hot sand, yelping at the searing sensation of the milliards of little particles burning into the bottom of her feet before she dove into the depths of the ocean.

He closed his eyes again and let his mind drift back into the pleasant numbness of doing nothing but inhaling and exhaling, until he drifted off to a light sleep.

By the time he woke up, she was back by his side, lying face down on her chair. She seemed to be taking a little nap of her own.

He reached for his cup on the small table between them to moisten his parched throat, but found it empty. Giving up the comfort of his spot and making the trek to their cabin didn't sound too alluring, but it was better than dying of thirst, so he stretched out his limbs to get the blood flowing and slowly stood up. Her drink was gone, too, so he picked up both glasses and headed to the hut to get some refills.

He puttered around in the kitchen for a while, getting ice and filling the cups with their chilled beverages, then trudged back to their little oasis on the sand. Shepard was still lying motionless on her lounge chair, her head turned to the side and her arms hanging down over the edge.

He crept up to the small table and took great care to deposit the glasses as quietly as he could, but, despite his best efforts, they still clinked softly as they touched the metal surface. His eyes darted over to Shepard's sleeping form, but she didn't move.

His gaze slid down her spine to the round curves of her backside, covered only by a small patch of yellow fabric. Her shape was as lovely as ever, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was different about her. He stood still, eyes narrowed in concentration as he tried to put a finger on what exactly it was that had caught his unconscious attention, until she moved a leg, making her bikini bottom roll up a bit. A startled, involuntary gasp escaped his throat at the sight of a sharp demarcation line between the color of her milky white skin that had been covered until now and the bright red shade of the other areas that had been exposed to the sun for too long.

"Spirits," he blurted out, forgetting all about his plan to let her sleep as long as she wanted to.

She lifted her head to blink up at him, her eyes still bleary and unfocused from her earlier state of unconsciousness. "Hmm?"

"Your skin. It's... red."

She raised her torso up onto her elbows and twisted around to take a look. "Aww, shit. Forgot the damn sunscreen. Well, that's gonna hurt."

Garrus's mandibles twitched in concern. He'd had no idea that this sun, as weak as it was compared to Palaven's, could do this much harm. "How bad is it? Do you need medical attention?"

Shepard rose onto her hands and knees and carefully slid off the chair, avoiding any contact between the coarse fabric of the furniture and her damaged skin. "Nah," she shook her head dismissively, "some medi-gel should take care of it. If I'm lucky, it will heal quickly and won't even blister."

She slipped her feet into her sandals and set out on the short hike to their cabin. "Give me a hand?" she asked, throwing a glance at him over her shoulder.

He hurried after her and caught up in a few long strides. This didn't sound good. In fact, it sounded much more serious than she seemed to want to let on. During his time in C-Sec, not to mention years of fighting every conceivable enemy by Shepard's side, he'd seen plenty of times what a burn injury could do to soft flesh. It was not pretty, to say the least—in fact, it was downright terrifying. So it was with no small measure of dread that he choked out, "Blister?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah, if the damage is deep enough. If it is, it'll probably peel, too."

Garrus stopped in his tracks and stared at her in shock.

"What?" she asked, turning back to look at him when she realized that he wasn't following her anymore.

His mandibles were pulled tight into his face and he had to take a deep breath before he could answer. "Your skin might... peel off?" He shuddered at the thought.

For a split second, she considered feeding him some tall tales about the horrors of it all, but he looked so sickened by the whole situation that she just couldn't do it. She took a step to close the distance between them and put a soothing hand on his arm. "Don't worry, if that happens, it won't hurt. A new layer of skin will come in and the old one will just come off. No pain. None."

His stance visibly relaxed at her words and he nodded his head in understanding. With his concerns sufficiently allayed, they finally walked into the cabin and found the medical supplies in the bathroom closet.

Shepard took her bathing suit off and lay down on the bed to give Garrus maximum access to all the areas that needed his attention. Her body screamed in pain at the touch of his hands, but she bit into her lower lip to stifle any groans threatening to escape. The analgesics in the medi-gel did their magic, though, and in a few minutes she felt nothing but blissful coolness over her hot skin.

She gave a contended sigh and got up. "Thank you. Much better now."

"Sure." He gingerly took her hands in his and gave her a remorseful look. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"It was my idea to come here. I didn't know—"

She put a finger on his mouth plates and shook her head. "It's not your fault. I just forgot to put on the sunscreen. People with fair skin and red hair are more vulnerable to the sun's rays. But it's no big deal. We've been through worse."

His mandibles finally flared out in a relieved grin. "That we have."

He watched as she carefully put on a long, cotton shirt, and followed her to the kitchen to get a drink. After a few gulps of ice cold water, he felt good enough to rib her a little bit about the vulnerability of her species.

"How in the name of all that's holy did your species survive?"

She gave him a playful glare over her glass. "We managed. Quite well, I'd say."

He hummed as he pretended to ponder her answer. "And peeling? Really? I didn't know your people molted."

Shepard nearly spit out her water, but managed to swallow it down before she deposited her glass onto the kitchen counter and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She leaned back on one leg and gave him her old Grumpy Commander look. "All right, Mister. Next time, we're taking a ski trip. Let's see how _you_ do with the ice and snow."

Garrus couldn't hold back the shiver that ran down his spine at that mental image. He held up his hands in surrender and drawled, his voice mock serious but his eyes glinting with mischief, "Did I say molt? I meant, rejuvenate yourselves. You know, so you can be even more impressive and beautiful than you already are."

She laughed and cupped his face to plant a gentle kiss on his mouth. "Nice save. But we're still going to the Alps."

He shook his head and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Fine. If you want me to freeze to death—"

"No need to worry. I'll have my ways to keep you warm." She gave him a wink, which he reciprocated with a low purr.

Maybe the cold wasn't going to be so bad—as long as she was by his side to take away the chill.


	2. Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that ski trip Shepard mentioned? She was not kidding.

"Forget it," Garrus grunted as he watched one insane human after another leap off an outcropping on the mountainside and soar through the air, leaving a cloud of spraying snow behind. "I'm not going to hurl myself off a cliff because it's _fun_."

Shepard huffed out an exasperated sigh. "We're not going to do any advanced jumping, Garrus. We're just going to do some... simple stuff."

She waved an arm in the general direction of a group of beginners up a gentle slope, slowly sliding down under the watchful eyes of their instructor. It didn't take more than a few seconds before one of them veered off to the side and crashed into a small pine tree; another one fell soon after, face down and unable to move while he tumbled down the path.

Garrus shot his mate a pointed look. "I think you just want to get me killed so you can marry our landlord."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Yes. That's exactly what I want. A pudgy eighty year old with no hair and no teeth to speak of."

"I knew it."

She laughed and gave him a light peck on the cheek. "Fine, we don't have to ski. We can just do some sledding."

"Some what?"

"You'll see. It'll be fun."

She headed back to the rental place and he trudged after her, certain that he was going to hate whatever this... sledding was going to be.

 

* * *

 

"I think my toes are frozen," Garrus groaned several hours later as he stomped his feet on the rubber mat to dislodge the snow from his boots. He peeled off his padded coat, shaking off the sparkling ice crystals still clinging to the fabric, and hung it on the hook together with his gloves and hat.

Shepard had already divested herself of her outer layers and was on her way into the living room of their rented suite to turn on the fireplace. "Well," she chuckled as the flames roared to life, "it was _you_ who didn't want to stop."

It was true. As skeptical as he had been about this whole sledding business, the moment they'd pushed off in their two-person inflatable from the top of the hill and began their exhilarating glide down the winding roller coaster of a course the resort had built for this purpose, he was hooked. Sure, he'd complained about Shepard's driving skills for old times' sake, but as soon as they'd come to a stop at the bottom, he wanted to do it again.

But now, after countless rounds, pleasantly tired and utterly cold, all he really wanted was to sit in front of the fire and huddle under the thick blanket that Shepard was holding up for him. He released the seals on his boots and pulled the heavy footwear off, then he walked up to the fireplace and lowered himself onto the armchair. She tucked in the soft fleece around him and planted a kiss on his forehead before she strolled into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" he called after her.

She glanced back at him over her shoulder and bit into her lower lip to stifle a laugh. He looked adorable, sitting there with the colorful plaid blanket pulled all the way up to his chin, only his head sticking out from underneath the protective warmth. "I'm getting something hot for you to drink."

"Oh. Thanks."

He watched the dancing flames as he waited, and gave her a grateful smile when she handed him a mug of steaming graffa. He expected her to sit down on the armchair on the opposite side of the fireplace with a drink of her own, but instead, she knelt down on the floor in front of him.

"Give me one of your little footsies," she said.

His brow plates lifted upwards and his blue eyes blinked at her in confusion. "My what?"

"Your foot."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

He poked one of his feet out from under the blanket and she took it gently into her lap. She rubbed and massaged the clawed appendage, so different from a human's but no longer alien to her, and smiled when he let out a happy little purr.

"Better?" she asked. He nodded enthusiastically. "Good. Now give me the other one."

He complied without a word this time and she repeated the motions, kneading his flesh until it no longer felt cold underneath her touch.

"All right," she said as she stood up, careful to cover him back up. "I'll be right back."

She retreated to the bathroom and started the water for the hot tub. She set the temperature and the depth at which it was to shut off automatically, then returned to the living room for a little cuddle with Garrus while she waited for the system's ping to announce that the bath was ready.

She lifted a corner of the blanket and slid under it, curling up on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her temple with a soothing hum as she tucked her head under his chin.

"This is nice," he murmured.

She straightened up a bit to give him a satisfied grin and brush her lips against the sensitive skin on his neck. "I told you."

The thrumming rumble of his purr deepened and he squeezed her tighter against his body. "Hmm... I seem to remember a promise about showing me various ways to keep me warm," he drawled, drawing a chuckle out of her. "While this is certainly enjoyable, I wouldn't mind finding out about the other, ah, methods you had in mind."

"I'm working on it." She winked up at him, but she didn't move.

They sat in silence, Garrus utterly befuddled and Shepard smiling to herself in amusement, until the chime went off and she got off his lap.

"Come on," she said, reaching for his hand.

"Where are we going?"

"To the bathroom."

"That... wasn't exactly what I had in mind," he protested. He sounded positively disappointed.

"We have a hot tub," she pointed out with a wink. "Big enough for two."

"Oh." Memories of their time in Anderson's apartment came flooding back, and he needed no more convincing that this was, indeed, going to be a more than pleasurable way of getting his blood pumping and warming him up from his fringe to his toes.

 

* * *

 

Shepard awoke to the enticing smell of something delicious wafting into the bedroom. A quick look over her shoulder confirmed her suspicion: Garrus's side of the bed was empty.

She closed her eyes with a groan. It was still fairly early in the morning—certainly much earlier than their usual get-up time had been ever since she'd finished her physical therapy sessions at the hospital, and she wouldn't have minded a little more sleep before she'd crawl out of bed and head to the shower.

Her stomach, however, disagreed; whatever it was that Garrus was preparing, it smelled good enough to raise the dead, so she threw off the covers and sat up. She tucked her feet into her slippers, wrapped her body in her fuzzy robe, and walked out into the living area.

"Ah, you're awake," Garrus said when he saw her shuffling in, her eyes still bleary from sleep and her hair sticking up in all directions in a tousled mess. "I've made you some breakfast."

He turned off the heat under the frying pan and piled a generous amount of incredible-looking omelet onto a plate. "Sit. He motioned at the stool by the peninsula that separated the kitchen from the living room.

She settled down by the fork and knife he'd already set out on the placemat, and he slid the plate in front of her. "Thanks," she murmured as she dug into the soft peaks of eggs, ham and cheese. "This looks delicious."

She took a bite and closed her eyes as she savored the symphony of flavors on her tongue. "Mmm, you've gotten really good at this, Garrus," she said with a grateful smile. He beamed back at her as he deposited a plate of toast and a mug of hot coffee next to the omelet.

Indeed, he'd had a lot of practice preparing levo meals for her during the last few months while she was recuperating from her injuries. He'd never had much interest in cooking for himself when he'd lived alone during his C-Sec days, but once he'd started to learn how to get around the kitchen for _her_ sake, he'd found that he actually enjoyed the satisfaction of creating something that she liked, even if he himself had no idea if his creations tasted even remotely close to what they were supposed to.

"Have you eaten yet?" Shepard asked between two bites and a sip of coffee.

"Yes. I got up early so I could get our gear ready."

She cocked a surprised eyebrow at him, which he answered with a shrug and a sweeping gesture towards the entryway. She turned around to see where he was pointing, and almost fell off her chair when she took in the sight that she had missed when she'd stumbled out of the bedroom. Their boots were cleaned and polished, her snowsuit, gloves, and hat, carelessly discarded somewhere in the room the day before, were hung tidily on the hooks by the door, and a set of underwear, warm sweatpants, and shirt were laid out neatly on the couch for her.

Her lips curled into a knowing smirk as she looked back up at him. "Planning to go somewhere?"

"Well, I thought we could, if you want to, you know, try that, uh, sledding thing again."

"Hmm." She loudly slurped her coffee while she pretended to consider his proposal. "Yeah. We could."

He took a deep breath and continued, hoping that he wasn't going to regret this later. "And if you insist, we could also give that crazy skiing a go."

Her eyes opened wide and her mouth hung open for a second. "Really?"

He leaned down, resting his elbows on the counter, and took her free hand in his. His eyes glinted warmly and his mandibles flared open into a wide smile. "Really. Anything for you."

Her face split into a huge grin and she reached out to touch the unscarred side of his face. "Have I told you that I love you?"

He shook his head in mock sadness. "Not since last night. I was starting to get quite worried."

She laughed and stuffed a piece of toast into her mouth. "Well, I do."

"I love you, too." He leaned closer to brush his forehead against hers for a second, then he straightened up and walked over to the sink to rinse off the dishes.

He hoped that she was going to finish her breakfast and get ready soon—he had no intentions of admitting it, at least not for a while, but he was really looking forward to getting back on the slopes. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush of flying down the hill, or maybe it was her sparkling eyes and smiling face as they did it again and again; either way, this trip had turned out to be much more fun than he'd ever anticipated.

Besides, he still intended to collect on her promise and find out about all of her other plans for keeping him warm and cozy after a cold day on the slopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to KabiViolet for taking time out of her busy schedule to beta read the chapter. :)


	3. Cooking Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me this long to add a new chapter to this story, and big, big thanks to all of you who are still here to read it. I was stuck on the next chapter for a very long time; I had an idea, but I just didn't like what I wrote. Then I got sidetracked by another story (Field Training), and I didn't have enough time to work on both at the same time. 
> 
> This weekend, however, I got a prompt at tumblr which fitted this story quite well, so I decided to write it, and add that fill here. The prompt was, "I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck" by Zendelai. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Big thanks to Suilven for beta reading.

The first time Shepard tried her hand at turian cuisine, it nearly sent Garrus to the hospital.

He knew he was in trouble as soon as he cut into the chunk of haffa meat on his plate. The outside appeared to be cooked well enough; the inside, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter. It sat in a bloody mess, rather raw and unappetizing, staring back at Garrus as he sat gaping at the... thing in front of him. 

"Well? Dig in," Shepard said, chewing happily on her own food—which, despite it being one of those slippery noodle dishes he'd always found a little bit revolting, seemed positively more appealing right now than his own menu choice, chirality issues be damned.

Garrus took a deep breath and put a chunk of the oozing mess in his mouth. His ancestors used to hunt live game and eat their meat raw; what harm could it do to choke some of it down now? 

As it later turned out, plenty. He spent the rest of the night in bed, writhing in pain, clutching his stomach in a futile effort to ease the cramps tearing at his insides and rushing to the bathroom every ten minutes to flush out the results of Shepard's culinary efforts from his body.

"I'm sorry," Shepard said, her mouth drooping down in abject misery as she sat by his side and ran an apologetic hand up and down his arm. 

"It's all right," he whispered, barely able to talk. "I still appreciate the effort."

The truth, however, was that he hoped she'd never try cooking a turian meal again.

Unfortunately, the spirits refused to grant his wish.

A few days later, Shepard surprised him with another failed attempt. 

This time, the food was actually cooked. Which was good; Garrus had no intention of going through another bout of cramps, vomiting, and diarrhea again. Alas, being thoroughly cooked was the only thing that worked in favor of the meal the love of his life had prepared for him.

His trouble started when he attempted to stab the piece of luceris with his fork. The tines of his utensil bounced right off, hitting the plate with a loud clink instead. That was a bad sign, a really bad sign, but he couldn't give in now: Shepard was watching, and he was not about to disappoint her. 

So, he made another valiant attempt, holding one side of the food in place with his knife. This time, his fork pushed in, though it took quite an effort, and eventually he managed to cut a piece off. One glance at the charred remains of the precious ingredient Shepard had somehow acquired despite the limited supplies of dextro food available after the war confirmed his suspicion: the whole thing was burnt, through and through, with not a molecule of actually enjoyable part left for him to consume. 

Nevertheless, he soldiered on and put the piece in his mouth, feigning a pleased hum as he scrunched and crunched the rock-hard, tasteless lump until he could actually swallow it. 

"I might have cooked it a bit too long," Shepard said, smiling sweetly as she twirled a blob of spaghetti onto her own fork. 

"No, it's fine," Garrus lied. "I'm just not very hungry right now. I think I'll eat it later." 

Much later, he thought, when you're not around and I can get rid of it without having to put any more of this in my mouth.

Two weeks passed by without Shepard making any more attempts at cooking another turian dish, and Garrus finally started to relax, thinking that he'd dodged a bullet and there were going to be no more awkward dinner dates with uncooked food or pieces of carbonized meat for him to suffer through. 

So, when he came home one evening after a grueling day of dealing with the issues surrounding the rebuilding and resupplying efforts of the turian fleet still stationed around Earth, wishing for nothing more than a plain old packet of rations and a bottle of beer and a lovely night with his wife, the last thing he'd expected was for his nostrils to be assaulted in the kitchen with the most foul stench he'd ever smelled—and that included the horrible odors he could still remember from his time on Omega.

He didn't even have to ask what that awful smell was; a quick glance at the dinner table was enough to confirm his worst fear—Shepard had played turian chef and failed, rather miserably, again.

"Surprise!" Shepard said, waving an arm at the table, her eyes shining and her lips curling into a pleased grin when she saw him walk through the door.

Garrus suppressed a sigh and strolled up to his wife to press his forehead against hers. "Uh, thanks." 

She wove her arms around his neck and pulled his head down for a proper kiss, then she turned him around and pushed him towards his seat. 

“According to Solana, this is your favorite meal. I hope you’ll like it; I think it turned out pretty well!” Her hands slid down to his waist and lingered there for a moment as she leaned closer to his ear canal and whispered, her hot breath fanning the sensitive skin on the side of his neck, “Dessert will be served in bed.”

She let go of him and walked over to her seat, plopping down with a satisfied smirk on her face.

Garrus shivered, mourning the loss of her hand and the warmth of her presence by his side, and reluctantly lowered himself onto his chair. How could he refuse eating this food now? The answer, of course, was that he couldn’t. 

He suppressed a sigh and took a bite, hoping that it was going to taste better than it looked and smelled. Unfortunately, it didn’t. It was absolutely vile.

For a brief moment, he considered forcing himself to eat the rest of the meal and lying about how much he enjoyed it, just to make Shepard happy. She did manage to cook it through without burning it to a crisp, after all, which was definitely some progress. But then, the image of a thousand more horrible dinners flashed up in his mind, and he decided that he just couldn’t take that. He just couldn’t. This had to stop, here and now.

He put down his fork and reached over to gently cover Shepard’s hand with his own. 

“Sweetheart,” he said, hoping that what he was going to say wasn’t going to send him to the couch for the next two weeks. “You know I love you. A lot. But please, stop trying to cook me dinner. You suck at it.”

To his relief, Shepard merely tilted her head and smiled. “I admit that cooking is not my strongest suit, and I’d be lying if I said I actually enjoyed it.” 

Garrus’s shoulders relaxed and he couldn’t help releasing a pleased sigh. Unfortunately, Shepard was not done yet, and what she said next made his mandibles clamp down close to his face again.

“But,” she went on, “that doesn’t mean I don’t want to learn and get better. And I’ll be damned if I give up so easily. If you could learn to cook human dishes when I was recovering after the war, then so can I. I mean, cook turian dishes. You’ll see.” 

Garrus almost let out a disappointed groan, but caught himself in time. He shook his head instead and decided to try to reason with her. As stubborn as she could be, she was also one of the smartest, most practical people he’d ever known—so, maybe, with the proper approach, the situation could still be salvaged. 

“Yes, but I had help,” he said. “Kaidan was there to teach me. You don’t know how many mistakes I made before I actually cooked my first edible levo meal. You, on the other hand, have nobody to teach you. I’m not exactly the best cook, and I don’t know anybody else who could—“

Shepard gave him a grin and waved a hand. “I do.”

“What?”

“There’s someone who could teach me. And she knows exactly what you like.”

Garrus’s browplates lowered in a frown. He knew that look. She was up to something; something he was not going to be too happy about. He was almost afraid to ask, but there was no turning back now. “Who?”

“Your sister.”

Well, he’d been right. He did not like where this was going. “My sister is on Palaven.”

“Yes, she is. And she’s been trying to get us to go and visit them for quite a while. Maybe it’s time to do just that. And before you say you’re too busy,” she added, raising a hand to stop any complaint on his part, “I’ve already talked to the primarch. He said it would be a great idea for us to go to Palaven. There’s plenty to do there, too, and it would help morale if the people saw one of their most famous war heroes visit their planet.”

Garrus leaned back in his chair and folded his arms in front of his chest. “It won’t be that easy, you know. Sure, my sister has been rather approving of our relationship, and apparently has been quite chatty with you,” he shook his head, wondering what else these two had been talking about behind his back, “but my father’s attitude towards our bonding is an entirely different matter. If we visit Solana, we’ll have to visit him, too. And that will be no fun, I can assure you.”

Shepard’s lips pulled back into a confident smile. “I think I can handle him.” Her expression turned more serious and she reached across the table to touch his hand. “It’s time to go home, Garrus. It will be fine, you’ll see.”

He gave her a long, uncertain look before he huffed out a resigned sigh and dropped his arms onto the table. “Fine. I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow.”

“Good.” She stood up and walked over to the fridge, pulling out a box. “I got this for you just in case my newest cooking effort turned into another disaster. I hope you’ll like this one better than what I made.” 

She took his plate and put the box down in front of him, and Garrus opened it with unbridled curiosity. He had to swallow as his gaze fell on the contents; it was a full shank of smoked and expertly aged corious ham, gloriously dark and spicy and alluring as it lay stuffed into the confines of the container. 

“Where did you get this?” he asked, unable to stop himself from tearing into the flesh and stuffing a sweet, sweet chunk into his mouth. 

Shepard laughed as she dumped the contents of her culinary experiment into the recycling unit. “You like it? Adrien found it somewhere. I think it used to belong to the private stash of an indoctrinated government official.” She turned around to face Garrus and gave him a wink. “It’s all yours now.”

Garrus swallowed the piece and took a gulp of water, but before he’d put the glass back down on the table, his hand froze in the air and his eyes narrowed as he stared at his wife. “Wait a minute. Did you make all those terrible meals just to get me to go to Palaven?”

Shepard clutched her chest in exaggerated hurt. “Of course not. I’d never do something like that to you. Well, not the first two times, at least.” She chuckled at Garrus’s exasperated groan, and went on. “I really did want to learn how to make you some turian dishes. You were so sweet when you cared for me while I was recuperating; I wanted to reciprocate somehow. Then, after my second attempt, I asked Solana for help, and she said she could teach me if we visited them. I figured that would be as good a reason as any to finally get you to go. She misses you, you know. And I want to meet her and the rest of your family. Even your father.”

Garrus licked his fingers and sighed. “Don’t say I haven’t warned you. He won’t be fun. At all.”

“I know. But still.”

With his belly full and the air cleared (and the promise of no more horrible meals he’d have to suffer through) Garrus felt much better now. He tilted his head and raked his gaze up and down Shepard’s body. “So… how about that desert you promised?”

Shepard’s lips quirked up into a smirk. She opened the fridge again, pulled out a small tub, and held it up into the air. From his position, Garrus could just catch the description on the tub. Edible body paint. “You like turian chocolate, right?”

Without waiting for an answer, she sashayed out of the kitchen and headed to their bedroom, taking the tub with her. 

Forget that beautiful chunk of corious meat; chocolate, especially if it adorned the body of his love, was definitely Garrus’s favorite food. 

“Do I ever!” he yelled after his wife, and hurried to join her in their bed.


End file.
